My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

Rudy was all smiles again by the time he was finished sorting through the affairs of shattered windshields and broken bumpers or whatever the hell the daily going-ons were for a man of his profession.

At the moment though, business and profession were the last things on the old man's mind. He came back a changed man—figuratively and almost literally. No longer just some humble mechanic who runs an auto shop, but a long-time colleague and dear friend of Dad's.

As such, he was pretty much a head below the totem pole from being an actual relative. Complete with the sentimentalities and inside jokes that come with the title, and as well as a newfound interest in every minute aspect of me and everything to do with me.

I spent the next hour or so awkwardly latched between them… like some unnecessary third wheel to a bicycle that perfectly rode with just two. Mostly, I was just there to grunt and nod whenever Rudy would turn to me with always the same giddy smile and that nostalgic glint in his eyes.

When operating hours began ticking close, I seized the chance to make my leave. As for payment—well, just to make sure, I asked if there was anything I needed to settle, and going by the single uproarious wheeze Rudy let out, seemed like that was the funniest shit he's heard all his life.

"If I had known earlier you were Michael's kid, believe me, I'd have done loads more to your bike—not a cent charged," he said with such earnestness I was left with no choice but to believe him. "In fact, ain't too late if you wanna leave your bike a couple more days. Have it leagues above the stuff they're selling in stores now. How's about it?"

"That's okay," I said, hopping onto my bike and slowly paddling myself out the shutters before the man could have the chance to kill me with another lethal dose of generosity. "Anyway, thanks. Like, thanks a bunch. Honestly, I'm not really sure how to properly thank you for all that you've done. Oh, and Dad—"

Dad poked his head out from the open hood of a car that Rudy was having him inspect. Standing there with a wrench in his hand and a bit of muck smeared across his chin, he certainly did look the part of a mechanic more than I expected. What a resume he's got, I just realized—hero, mechanic, mobster, farmer…

Anyway, he met my gaze, giving a look that didn't need words for me to understand. It's as if he was projecting his thoughts directly into my head… and in my mind, he was still asking… before, I never got to answer him properly thanks to Rudy… but now…

"Later," I said, giving a nod that was more than just goodbye. "I'll talk to you later."

That was as good as he could have hoped—nodding back, disappearing behind the hood of the car once more. Then with a jerk that was stronger than I was expecting and a cold splash of the morning breeze whipping across my face, I was blazing down the main road with speed and smoothness I could never before imagine.

It was like I was skiing through butter, or sailing across thin air. I could barely feel the road beneath me. Every turn on a junction felt so seamless and easy that it was almost scary how little effort everything needed now.

Something tells me it's gonna take a while to acclimatize to the changes. Something was also telling me it's gonna be an enjoyable while too. Except I couldn't enjoy it—not yet. Not while I'm too preoccupied ruminating over my next move.

On one hand, Dad wants to see Irene. And on the other hand, Irene would much prefer not seeing the man if she could help it.

Now somehow I've just gotta convince the latter to be okay with the former.

But how? And when exactly? After today? Should I ask during practice? I'm supposed to be spending my birthday with her today, and I'm sure she's got the occasion planned out with every minute detail measured to absolute perfection. Am I really gonna plop the subject of my Dad in the middle of everything and throw all that effort to the curb?

Devil's advocate says why not? Your Dad's reaching out to you, asking for a favor—name a single instance in your life he's ever done that before. It's clear he's got some issues he needs help sorting through… how exactly Irene could help with that remains to be seen… but that's just another reason why you should… wouldn't you like to find out?

I figured it was best to plug my mind shut while I was still on the road—save the blanking out and deep contemplating for when I'm not a single distraction away from making this birthday also my very last one. I'll decide when I get home.

A right turn was coming up on the road, and as I angled my bike, making a perfect curve that would make any mathematician moan with ecstasy, I realized I was three buildings away from breezing past Hayley's cafe.

I slowed down a bit, curious to see how well the place was faring without me on the front line, and past the gleam of the shop window, I saw it… saw her. There—in her usual spot, along with her usual paper pile stacked atop the counter.

Sipping and scribbling as per schedule, Irene could have been just another unassuming face in the morning. I say 'could have' because she just wasn't. Try as she might to blend in with the crowd there was simply no diminishing the way she could instantly pull one's gaze to hers in a sea of dozens.

Now that I think about it, business in the store usually only starts picking right around the time she strolls in—most of the incoming traffic being men… so that's some food for thought, I guess.

Before I knew it, I was already drifting my bike to one of the empty spots on the side of the road. Now or never, I thought—swinging open the cafe door and navigating through the winding narrow path of occupied tables of coffee and cakes until I made it to the front of the counter.

There was nobody behind the counter; probably at the back refilling, maybe. Not my concern though, at least not today. I strolled the last few steps over to Irene who was busy as a bee and seemingly as blind as a bat having yet to notice a thing.

Another thing I just realized—the seat right next to her was more often than not vacant. No matter how packed or busy it gets, that seat would always remain empty. Was it too intimidating? To the point no one even dares? Fortunately for me, I didn't have that problem.

I slowly sat down, swiveling myself forward. With her eyes still tilted forever downwards, I saw the corner of Irene's lips drag down into a harsh frown. And with the look she had on her face right there and then, I don't know how global warming was still a thing.

"Sit down and order something, that's it," she said stiffly and firmly. "Anything else—I would advise you to get up and leave. I am not interested."

"Wow," I said in awe. "Okay, well, since you put it that way..."

Irene's pen clattered onto the page. Finally, she looked up. The instant she saw me, her whole face started to realign itself. From anger to shock, briefly embarrassment, before eventually settling onto confusion.

"I thought you weren't working today," she said, picking up her pen, promptly reverting to her usual self perhaps a little too quickly.

"If I was, I'd be across from you, not beside you," I replied, smirking at the little fracture in her stoic demeanor. "Hey, didn't you say before you don't come here on my off days?"

"Force of habit now. It's become part of my schedule," she hurriedly said to get on with her turn to question back. "What are you doing here?"

"Went to pick up my bike from the shop. Got it repaired, better than ever now. Was driving home when I saw you from the window. Though I'd drop by to see you. But hey, since you said you weren't interested, guess that means I'll just…"

I made to stand up, pretending to leave, only to be hit by a nasty glare that quickly anchored me back down.

"Kidding," I said.

Don't tease the succubus. Got it.

"I'm still working," she said, sounding just a tad bit resentful of the fact. "I don't get off until later, much later. When we get to your training basically. Then after, when we're done with that—"

"We celebrate," I finished for her.

"Yes," she affirmed, smiling slightly, finally. "We celebrate."

"I'm assuming you got something special planned?"

Irene paused for a second before answering. "Something like that."

Something about the way she said that felt… intriguing.

"Not gonna tell?" I asked. "Not even a little?"

"No."

And that was that. Can't go against that kind of immediate bluntness. Final and absolute.

"But that's all for later. Much later," she continued. Then much to my surprise, Irene went and flipped her paperwork closed, swiveling her seat in my direction. "You're here now… not for too long, but… I'll take what I can get."

Irene sounded enthusiastic, happy… which just made me all the more terrible in turn, having come to ask what I needed to ask. Should I still go through with it? How do I even start?

Screw it.

"Irene…"

"Sir," suddenly boomed a voice from between us, in front of us. "May I take your order?"

At first, in automatic, reflexive fashion, I thought it might have been a new hire. Because I didn't recognize the voice at first—until I did. I just never heard that voice ringing out in that way before.

So courteous. So formal.

No, I was more used to that voice being more brash and prickly sounding. An attitude that matched to the face that it belonged to.

Of all the people that could have interrupted me now…

I backed away from Irene. Hoping he hadn't already noticed how chummy and close I was with her just seconds prior. But of course, he's noticed. When it comes to me, he'll always notice something.

As my manager, it's practically in his job description to do so.

"Hey Nick," I said, greeting the broad and burly barista at the counter, wearing an apron that was obviously much too small for a guy of his stature. "How's business coming along?"

"Terrific," he said dully, eyeing me down, then briefly, fleetingly, narrowing his sights at Irene too. "Now you either buy something and get to sit there, or you don't and you get out of that chair and leave. What's it going to be?"

I pulled out my wallet, sighing. "I get an employee's discount, right?"